


the emerald and the sapphire

by chalknpolish



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Mutual Pining, canon was funky so i fixed it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27426859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalknpolish/pseuds/chalknpolish
Summary: a collection of one-shot drabbles written thursday nights/friday mornings. i'll put relative spoilers in the summaries of each one.
Relationships: Fjord/Jester Lavorre
Comments: 9
Kudos: 87





	1. the cold doesn't bother me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers up until episode 115. Fjord volunteers to keep first watch on that first night in the elements, and Jester stays up to keep him company. It's very cold. It would be silly not to huddle for warmth, wouldn't it?

It's biting cold tonight. They knew it would be, but that doesn't make it any less miserable. Fjord is torn; he had elected to take first watch, so he should be at the top of the bowl Dagen and Jester had carved out, but the fire is so very inviting.

He risks half a glance over his shoulder. The others are still shifting, trying to get comfortable. Veth is trembling like a leaf, and after a few moments of silent debate with herself, she crawls over and curls up against Caleb's stomach. Without question, he lifts one of his many layers and wraps her up in it. It's a familiar and casual sight, but something about it sends an odd sensation through the pit of Fjord's gut. Shaking himself, he turns back to gaze across the white expanse.

There’s nothing out there. Just wind and sleet. It’s almost unsettling. Fjord draws his sword. He doesn’t plan on using it, but there’s something comforting about its presence. He turns the blade, watching the way it seems to reach out and catch the firelight.

“Cold?”

Fjord yelps in a most un-heroic manner and barely stops himself from swinging at Jester, who wisely jumped back when she realized she’d caught him off-guard. He puts a hand to his chest and shakes his head, glaring at her teasingly. “Don’t _do_ that!”

“Sorry,” she giggles, poorly hiding her smile behind her hand. She steps closer and sits down next to him.

“I’ve—er—I’ve got this covered, Jester, if you want to get some sleep,” Fjord tells her, hating the way he seems to fumble his words around her.

She shakes her head. “I couldn’t sleep anyway. Too many thoughts. Besides, you look like you could use some company.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

She smiles up at him and he has to work hard to swallow. He’s suddenly hyper aware of the arrangement of his hands and feet, and his palms feel weirdly clammy around the hilt of the Star Razor. Jester pretends not to notice the way he’s fidgeting and looking at everything except for her.

It’s confusing, the way Fjord acts around her now, but she’d be lying if she said it didn’t excite her a little bit. But then there’s that thought… _. He wasn’t flirting with you before, you just thought he was. Don’t fall into that same trap._

So she stays quiet. Why push things and end up in the same painful spot as last time? She’s content to just enjoy the warm butterflies that swarm in her stomach whenever she catches him glancing her way a little too frequently.

They stay quiet for at least half of an hour, long enough that their companions’s breathing slows and they manage to slip into rather uncomfortable slumber.

“Seen any monsters?” Jester asks quietly, finally breaking the spell.

“No,” Fjord admits, “you?”

“No,” she agrees. “Do you have your truesight thing on?”

Fjord snorts at her phrasing. “No, but that’s a good idea.”

She watches as he mumbles something under his breath and the runes on the Star Razor pulse with light. At the same time, his yellow eyes flare, the same way they did when he…when Avantika died. He blinks, and the light fades.

 _“Now_ do you see any monsters?” Jester asks, worrying he’ll be able to hear the forced amusement in her voice. She hadn’t thought about Avantika and that whole thing in…well, since it happened, really. They’d been keeping busy.

Fjord scans the surrounding area, taking his time, his brow furrowed. He finally turns to face Jester, and then his gaze lifts a few feet over her head. She looks up nervously, but sees nothing. “What is it?”

Fjord lifts an arm, holding out his newly-found animal hide that Cad had helped him to affix to his coat. It’s an obvious invitation. Jester’s eyebrows fly into her hairline.

“Don’t—not like that,” Fjord says quickly, feeling heat in his cheeks despite the biting wind. “You’re being scried on. I have Caleb’s necklace, if I cover you…hypothetically…they shouldn’t be able to see you.”

“Oh,” says Jester after a very pregnant pause, “okay.” But she doesn’t move. Then, again: “Okay.” And she shifts closer to him, and he wraps his heavy cloak around her so that not even her horns poke out, and he has his arm tightly around her shoulders. She feels rather silly, tucked here against Fjord and hidden away, and he does too, but neither of them say anything.

They sit like that, Fjord with his heart in his throat, and eventually the stiffness ebbs.

After several minutes of silence, Jester’s voice comes through Fjord’s coat, muffled and small: “Is it gone?”

He glances up to where the orb had been. “Yes,” he tells her.

Jester exhales a breath Fjord hadn’t noticed she’d been holding and melts further into his side. With the scrying orb gone, she didn’t need to stay hidden away, but she made no effort to remove herself, and he wasn’t going to insinuate anything that might make her think he was trying to push her away.

“Are you cold?” The words are out of his mouth before he can think better of it, or realize how stupid he sounds. As soon as he says it, he scrunches up his face in embarrassment, knowing Jester can’t see it, but positive she’ll be able to sense it.

She’s quiet for a painfully long moment before giggling loudly and lifting her head to look at him. Freeing his other hand, he places it on the top of her head and pushes her back under his cloak. “Stay down,” he says, pursing his lips, amused in spite of himself.

“But the scry is gone.”

“I don’t want you to look at me right now.”

“I don’t get cold.”

“I know. I realized as soon as I said it.”

She giggles again, and the sound of it, and the sensation of it against his chest, is almost enough to drive the chill from his bones. He can’t help but wrap his arm a little tighter around her, and she nuzzles more comfortably into his side. He notices how well she fits there.

“It’s okay,” Jester finally says, stirring Fjord out of his thoughts. “I’ll keep you warm.”

_Oh._

He can’t answer. He sighs a little bit and allows his head to drop sideways until it’s resting on top of hers. Slowly and deliberately, she frees her head and shoulders from his cloak. Fjord draws back, nervous that he’d overstepped, but then her eyes catch his and he freezes. Their faces were so close. Painfully so. There was barely a millimeter between their noses.

“If that scry is actually still here, wouldn’t Molly just see us schnuggling under your coat?” she breathes.

He laughs, but it sounds more like a weary sigh, bringing his free hand to trace the amulet around his neck. “I honestly have no clue, I don’t know how this thing actually works. But it really is gone. I wouldn’t lie to you, Jester.”

“I know. I dispelled magic while I was under the coat.”

“That’s probably what did it.”

It’s strange; they are having an incredibly normal conversation, but Fjord feels miles away from it. It’s like his body was running on auto-pilot while he watches the two of them, wrapped tightly in an embrace to stave off the cold, and acting like that was all there was to it. He struggles to put into words the emotion bubbling in his chest—no, he knows the word. _Frustrating._ It’s frustrating being this close to her, hearing what she is telling him, and still not being able to reach out and close that last gap between them.

But he can’t. Not now. Not with everything going on.

He’d thought things would maybe get simpler after Traveler-Con and he’d have a chance to tell her how he felt—maybe not with words, but he’d find a way. But life seemed intent on driving them into the ground, it seemed, without any sort of break. They’d shared that brief moment before dinner with Trent, but immediately afterwards they’d gone to Molly’s grave, and that had created a whole new mess of trouble, and then he thought maybe they’d have a moment on the ship, but as it turns out, he was doomed to let her down every time they returned to sea. Then they got to Balenpost, and that was familiar—a tavern feel, bar brawls, odd looks from the locals—only for the rug to be yanked out from under them yet again.

No, it seems Fjord is doomed to miss every opportunity given to him, and it’s unfair of him to hold onto that frustration. Feeling significantly colder, he breaks his gaze from Jester’s and turns to look out across the snowy tundra before them.

He shivers and his teeth chatter annoyingly. It’s _really_ cold, and he isn’t used to it.

“Should I go get the rod of hand-warming?” Jester asks lightly.

When Fjord exhales, his breath fogs in front of his face. This is it. _What’ll it be, Tusktooth?_ a voice in his mind whispers.

He hears his voice as though from the end of a very long tunnel: “No, that’s okay, Jes. Guess you’ll just have to come a bit closer.”

Jester obliges, tangling their legs and taking his free hand in both of her own. She looks up at him with that look he never sees in the daylight; mature, and gentle, and almost sad, but mostly understanding.

“Are you okay, Fjord?” she asks softly.

“Fine,” he grunts, looking down at their hands in his lap. “Just not used to the cold. Doesn’t snow on the coast, you know that.”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean, like…Avantika.”

“Oh.” His brow furrows. He hadn’t expected her to bring this up. He’d been set on pretending it hadn’t happened, or at least not dragging his friends into it. This was his problem. He had broken his pact. He had drawn Uk’otoa’s wrath. “I…I don’t know. It’s a bit…it’s all rather overwhelming.”

Jester makes a humming noise in the back of her throat: he could say more, or be done with it—either way, she’d listen.

“I mean…the ocean is my home. It’s where I felt strongest. It’s where I belong. And the thought that I can’t go there without invoking the rage of a pseudo-deity? I hate it.” He pauses, for the first time putting into words what he’d suspected since Avantika first arrived over the side of the _Midnight Hammer._ “It seems I either have to stay landlocked for the rest of my life…free Uk’otoa…or…kill him.”

He half-expects the earth to shake with that last one, but the world stays white and silent.

“Well,” Jester finally says, a decisive undercurrent in her voice, “I think you should kill him. He’s kind of a jerk. And we’ll help you do that. Maybe that’s what we’ll do after we finish here in Eiselcross.”

Fjord shakes his head. “I couldn’t—this is my—he’s not—I’d never ask that of you all, Jester.”

“I know, which is why I’m offering!” she says brightly, looking up at him. “You’re not going to just go off on your own to fight Uk’otoa, Fjord. We wouldn’t let you.” An amused smile curls the corners of her mouth. “Beau would be _so_ mad.”

“Yes, she would,” grunts Fjord.

“But we’re in Eiselcross now, and we should stay focused,” Jester goes on. “Molly’s at least half a day ahead of us, and he’s scrying on me, so that’s not good. I don’t think this is going to be as easy as we want it to be.”

“Nothing ever is for us,” Fjord says, managing a smile.

“Exactly! But we always find a way.” Jester smiles up at him, giving his hand a squeeze. “Remember, I told you I’d do _anything_ to get you away from Uk’otoa. I meant it. Because I can see that it’s holding you back, and I want you to be happy and proud, and I know you, and I know you won’t be able to move on and be happy until you can go sailing again. So we’ll kill Uk’otoa, and then you can stop focusing on your past and start focusing on your future and be happy!”

Fjord’s mouth hung slightly open as he looked down at his little blue friend. In spite of all the miles and all the months they’d traveled together, it still floored him to realize just how much she saw him. Just how well she knew him.

“I’ve…had those exact same thoughts,” he says falteringly.

“I figured,” shrugs Jester.

He could tell her now. Tell her that _she_ is his future—the traveler and home. The card she drew wasn’t a choice for him to make. She was _both._ But he can’t reach that future until his past is closed. So instead of telling her the paragraphs swarming in his head, he just draws his arm tighter around her waist, presses his temple her forehead, and says softly, “Thank you, Jester. I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad you’re here, too, Fjord. None of us would let you handle it alone.”

“Veth might.”

“No, she wouldn’t.”

Fjord can’t help but smile, staring off into the distant flurry. “No,” he decides, “she wouldn’t.”

The two of them fall quiet and sit there as the temperature continues to drop. Jester tucks herself tighter under Fjord’s chin and he lifts his head to keep an eye out for…anything, really. But nothing presents itself.

After nearly an hour of silence, Fjord gently nudges Jester. He’s not entirely sure why; he just likes talking to her. She doesn’t answer. He nudges her again, and her head lolls almost comically. Disentangling his hand from her grip, he brings it up to cup her face, relaxing the slightest bit when he can feel her breaths, slow and heavy. She had only fallen asleep against his chest.

_Oh._

Fjord looks up into the dark expanse of cloudy night sky above him and mumbles, “Come on, Wildmother—how is that fair?”

Despite the crick in his lower back and soreness of the arm wrapped around her, Fjord stays still and keeps watch, careful not to stir her awake. Lucky for him, it’s Caduceus and Yasha who are supposed to take watch next, and Cad is always good at waking up on his own.

Fjord hears their tall friend before he sees him. Then Caduceus is looking down at the two of them, faintly amused, and Fjord can only look beseechingly back. Caduceus returns to the group to wake up Yasha, and to his own surprise, Fjord successfully gets to his feet, holding a still-slumbering Jester bridal-style in his arms.

Yasha, who is just sitting up in between Beau and Cad, lifts her eyebrows when she sees Fjord and his precious cargo returning to the group, but then a satisfied smirk settles on her face. Despite the biting cold, Fjord feels a bit warm round the face.

“You’re lucky it was us taking over,” Yasha tells him quietly as she follows Cad to the outskirts of the group.

Jester wakes up before Fjord the next morning, and before the rest of the group. She smiles down at him, and is careful to wrap his cloak tightly around him as she disentangles herself from his arms. She shuffles closer to the low-burning fire, wrapping her arms around her knees and trying to corral the butterfly swarm in her gut.

Caleb wakes up soon after, and then Dagen, who starts breakfast. Caleb brings the fire back to life, and the rest of the Nein awake to the smell of cooking bacon. Beau returns from the last watch and sits down between Caleb and Yasha.

Then Fjord is shuffling a little awkwardly to sit beside Jester. She looks up at him, unsure of what she’ll see in his face.

“Good morning,” he says, and he smiles in the kind of way she hasn’t seen in a long time. “Sleep well?”

“Mm-hmm, very well.” She blushes when she says it, and maybe it’s her imagination, but Fjord might be blushing, too.

Across the circle, Yasha and Caduceus share an oddly pointed look.

“Well _I_ slept like _shit!”_ Veth says loudly, and with that, the morning lethargy is broken, and the group breaks into chatter and banter like any other morning, with most of them insisting Caleb use the tower or the dome from now on.

Jester almost doesn’t hear most of it; as Dagen is passing around the bacon, Fjord takes her hand and intertwines their fingers, and she’s pretty sure that that alone is enough to keep her warm for the weeks to come.


	2. the first to know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers up until episode 118. After Fjord leaves Jester's room in the tower, she's bursting at the seams to tell someone what just happened. And who other to talk to about boys with than Artagan, archfey deity of trickery?

Fjord casts one last, kind smile over his shoulder before opening the door to his room and slipping inside. Jester stares at the shut door for a few moments, her heart still pounding in her chest. Then a spectral cat goes scampering past her feet and she jumps a little bit, realizing she’s frozen in place, wearing her pajamas in the hallway of Caleb’s nine-sided tower.

She quickly darts back inside her own room, shuts the door, and leans back against it, taking in deep, calming breaths. As much as she may try, she can’t push down the smile that keeps rising on her face. Unable to swallow a giggle, she lifts her hands and presses them to her face, which feels warm under her touch.

“Wow,” she finally breathes out, moving her hands to cup her cheeks. Another giggle bubbles up out of her. Then, again: _“Wow.”_

Lighter than air, she makes her way over to the bed and sits down on the edge, looking at her nightstand. Sat there, almost like it’s staring at her, is the little porcelain unicorn; she had taken it out of her haversack as soon as she got to her room, just like every other night. Once again, that warm, bubbly smile creases her face. She reaches out, cups the statuette in her hands, and falls back on her bed.

It didn’t feel _real._ She can’t help but think back to nearly a year ago, when she first met this little group that has become her family. Then she thinks farther back, to when she met the man who just left her feeling as warm as the sun and just as bright—except he isn’t really the same man, is he?

The differences between the Fjord she met and the Fjord who just kissed her are staggering; not least of all is the fact that they look almost nothing alike. That Fjord was clean-shaven, with a precise, neat haircut and filed down tusks and a false accent. It was all an act to appear as human as possible, as _not himself_ as possible. He was quiet, moody, mysterious, prudish, and more than a little stuck up.

But _this_ Fjord is so much more, and so much better. His hair is longer and more wild, he has a full beard, and his tusks have all but completely grown back. He’s strong, and honest, and protective, and smart, and funny, and most of all, he’s kind. Jester isn’t sure she’s ever met someone with as much kindness in their heart as Fjord—except for her mama, of course, but that’s different.

That Fjord never knew how to respond to her advances—which were, admittedly, a little strong—and often times left her frustrated and confused. But this Fjord reaches out to be a listening ear, and he really is a very good listener. He pays attention to her, he looks out for her. He surprises her with little porcelain unicorns (Jester giggles again, holding the figurine up so it catches the light) and gives her amulets to ensure her safety.

And he kisses her.

Not like before, where it happened and then he just sort of disappeared. Where she was left feeling lost and more than a little stupid. This time, he held her close afterwards, and looked her full in the face, and—what had he said, exactly?

_“I’ve wanted to do it for a while.”_

Jester sighs and holds the unicorn to her chest, looking up at the Nicodranas skyline painted into the underside of her canopy bed.

_“I want to come out of this and be able to go back to the sea, and go back to Nicodranas, and go back to where it’s warm and not fucking freezing.”_

_“Me too.”_

As she focuses on the painting, it begins to move, just as it has been enchanted to do. Nothing drastic, but there is a gentle lapping of waves, and flags blow in the breeze, and there’s a slow, soothing pulse coming from the Mother’s Lighthouse, and she can hear the faint noises that remind her almost painfully of home: a ship bell tolling, passers-by chattering in the street, and the shouting of dock workers. She knows she’s just imagining it, but Jester almost thinks she can hear a certain, familiar voice shouting for a hand from people named Sabian and Vandran.

Well, that settles it.

It’s far too late to go wake one of the others, and besides, she doesn’t want to burst the bubble of warmth and giddiness that her room has created by leaving it. She does, however, know who she wants to talk to.

Jester swings her legs over the side of the bed, the unicorn still clutched in her fist, and calls tentatively, “Artie?” When she doesn’t get a response, she tries again, but louder: “Artagan?”

Still nothing.

She clears her throat and says in her most sugary-sweet tone, “Traveler?”

Not a peep.

“Hmph.” Pouting the tiniest bit, Jester gets fully out of bed, sits cross legged in front of her fire, and begins to cast Commune. She always liked that her relationship with the Traveler didn’t need these frills and formalities, but he was apparently a bit too busy to be listening to her at the moment.

To hell with that, this was important!

“Well, what can I help you with, my dear?”

Jester blinks her eyes open immediately, delighted to see her best friend sitting across from her, looking a bit frazzled but nonetheless accommodating.

“I was calling for you,” she says quickly.

“I do have duties other than babysit you, you know,” Artagan snaps, but there is no venom in his words; just like always, there is a teasing twinkle in his eye. “I figured your big, strong friends could give me a few nights off each week.”

She scrunches her nose at him, but even Artagan’s jibes can’t squash the shining ball of light in her chest. “Actually, my big, strong friends are why I called you!” she says brightly, a beaming smile pushing its way onto her face.

“Oh, thank goodness,” says Artagan dramatically, sitting back and propping himself up on his palms. “I was worried it was going to be something about those Tomb Takers again, because I really don’t know any more than—”

“Ssh!” Jester interrupts, waving her hands to silence him. Suddenly, she feels very young again. Between the familiar design of her room, the illusory view of Nicodranas out the windows, and the casual-ness of this conversation with the Traveler, it’s just like those days she spent hidden away at the Chateau.

“So,” Jester begins eagerly, “do you remember that time I asked you how to get a boy to like me?” Before he can answer, a thought occurs to her. “Oh, shit, I only get three questions, and that was a question, wasn’t it? Oh, no, that’s another one!”

“Yes, so that’s two already,” Artagan says, holding up two fingers to emphasize.

“Uh-oh!” she giggles. “If you’d just _answered_ when I _called,_ then we wouldn’t have to—”

“Well I’m _sorry_ that I was a bit _distracted—_ ”

“Nevermind, nevermind!” Jester blurts, taking a few breaths to calm herself. But she was too hasty in thinking she could calm herself, because as soon as she feels tranquil again, that bubble swells in her gut. She clasps her hands under her chin and draws her knees to her chest, beaming and sighing wistfully for a moment.

“Oh, dear,” Artagan says drily. “I was only gone a few hours—what on earth happened?”

Jester had dreamed of the many flowery ways she could tell Artagan what happened; hell, back when she’d first met Fjord and started to read _Tusk Love,_ she’d take excerpts from the book and just slightly alter them to fit hers and Fjord’s situations—none of the really bad stuff, just the sweet kisses and hand touches. But all of that flees her mind when she sees Artagan’s normally composed face widen a bit in curiosity and surprise.

“I got a boy to like me!” she says simply with a small shrug. Her voice is shrill from excitement, and she takes in a shuttering breath.

“Oh!” says Artagan quickly, his eyes flashing. “How? An enchantment? Trickery?”

“No!” she says happily. “Just by being me. He—he just kissed me, Artie, just now!” As soon as she says it, she presses her hands to her mouth, her eyes positively shining.

Artagan arches an eyebrow, leaning forward again. There’s a long, heavy silence in which a smile slowly spreads across his face. True to the Traveler, it isn’t a particularly kind smile, but since it’s Jester, there isn’t any spite in his gaze. Finally, he inclines his head slightly and asks, “Am I going to be disappointed?”

She screws up her face and holds up her hand, putting her index finger and thumb close together: _a little bit._ Artagan groans and starts to lean back, thoroughly amused, but Jester grabs his attention once more.

“Come on, he was very helpful with Travelercon, and he’s very respectful towards you—”

Artagan holds up a hand, and Jester falls obediently silent. He examines her face, a surprisingly gentle crease to his brow, before saying, “Just nod or shake your head. The grimy wizard?”

She shakes her head and can’t stop herself from mumbling, “He’s not _grimy—”_

“Ssh. The angry monk lady?”

“I literally just told you it was a boy.”

“I said nod or shake your head. You’re awful at this.”

Jester giggles and shakes her head.

“Oh, dear,” sighs Artagan. “That leaves mighty slim odds. And neither are very good options. Both are Melora’s little whelps, aren’t they?”

Jester nods.

Artagan winces. “Any chance it’s the perceptive cow-man?”

She shakes her head, the smile on her face growing.

Artagan hangs his head. She can’t see his face when he says, his voice full of defeat, “I always knew that half-orc mama’s boy would give me a run for my money.” He lifts his head, his smile more of a grimace. “That’s who it is, isn’t it?”

Jester nods eagerly, and for a brief moment, she’s worried she’ll explode with giggles and oversharing. But just as it threatens to burble out of her, she gets a handle on it, and simply unfurls her clasped hands to show him the tiny porcelain unicorn sitting on her palms.

“He gave this to me,” she says, her voice soft, “And he keeps an eye out for me, always. I know I have you to protect me and look after me, but you said yourself, you get busy, and he….” Her cheeks feel warm, and she knows she must be a dark purple color, but she pushes on shyly, “He makes me feel safe, Traveler. I really like him.”

She’s expecting him to keep teasing her; he and Fjord never _have_ had the best or most trusting relationship. But to her surprise, he leans forward, his breath brushing past her ear, one hand on her leg, and says, “Then that’s all there is to it, isn’t it, Jester?”

“Oh, Artie!” Unable to control herself, she throws her arms around her oldest and dearest friend. He makes a small grunting noise of surprise, but hugs her back, albeit a bit awkwardly.

Patting her back stiffly, he says, “Just…should I be feeling threatened?”

“No,” she says firmly, drawing back and holding him at arm’s length. “Definitely not,” she adds. “It’s just…it’s different, you know?”

Artagan’s smile grows. “Yes, it is,” he says with finality. “And that’s three questions, my dear.”

Too late, Jester realizes what she’s done, and her face falls. “Oh, no…. Can’t you stay and keep me company for a bit?”

In a fluid movement, Artagan plucks the porcelain unicorn from Jester’s grasp and gently tucks it into the breast pocket of her pajamas. “You know I’ll always be around for you,” he says, “but something tells me you’re in very capable hands right now.” He takes a strand of her hair between two fingers, casts a wink her direction, and fades away as if on a seaside breeze, despite the fact that they are inside and there isn’t any wind.

The strand falls back against her face, and she brushes it back behind her ear.

Jester puts her hand over her pocket like some kind of silly pledge of allegiance pose. Once again, that smile burns its way onto her face and she giggles quietly to herself. Gathering herself, she cleans up her commune ritual and returns to her bed, collapsing against the sheets with a dreamy sigh. She falls to sleep clutching the little porcelain unicorn and listening to the sounds of Nicodranas calling her back home.

She can’t help but dream of a future where that home is shared.


End file.
